


Azure Kiss

by AbhorrentSelkie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Ouran High School Host Club Fusion, FE3H Kinkmeme, Fluff and Humor, Host Clubs, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Underage Smoking, What is this a crossover episode?, i don't even know what to tag, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbhorrentSelkie/pseuds/AbhorrentSelkie
Summary: Only those with excellent social standing and those from filthy rich families are lucky enough to spend their time here at the elite private school, Garreg Mach Academy.The Garreg Mach Host Club is where the school's handsomest boys with too much time on their hands entertain ladies who also have way too much time on their hands.Just think of it as Garreg Mach Academy's elegant playground for the rich and beautiful._____Or: Ingrid is shanghaied into the Host Club following a mishap that leaves her indebted to a bunch of rich kids.Fill for FE3H Kink Meme
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	1. Starting Today, You're a Host!

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Instead of going to therapy like a normal person, Sylvain convinces his childhood friends to work through their social issues by starting a host club to flanderized versions of themselves.
> 
> Starring Dimitri as The Prince With A Bad Boy Side, Felix as The Tsundere, and Sylvain as The Playboy Only You Can Reform.
> 
> Things go relatively smoothly until one day, impoverished scholarship student Ingrid wanders into the wrong music room. She becomes their newest member, the Gallant GNC Knight...
> 
> \+ Dimitri has a bad home life because of how fucking weird father’s (poly?) relationship with Anselma and Cornelia is. Edelgard can’t stop judging her stepbrother’s weird hobby and is a little bit of an asshole about it.  
> ++ Sylvain’s getting laid a lot less since this started, it’s unprofessional to sleep with customers.  
> +++ Felix determined to succeed at being a host like he succeeds at Swords because Glenn laughed himself sick when he heard about the club and fuck you Glenn.  
> ++++ Other Blue Lions as club members welcome but Fearghus4 OT4  
> _____
> 
> Just a note: the beginning is going to follow OHSHC pretty closely, just to get the ball rolling, then it's going to go off on it's own thing a bit more.

If ever there was a day Ingrid wished she would have stayed home from school, it would have been that one… which was really pathetic, since it was her first day. She’d worked her tail off, studying and testing just to get the scholarship she needed to attend. It was the fast track to the future she wanted, after all.

But, of course, things couldn’t just go right. The scholarship didn’t include money for the school’s ludicrously expensive uniform, and the baggy brown sweater and black pants she wore instead drew the eyes of the rich snobs to the degree she thought it might have been less scandalous if she were walking around nude. On top of that, her hair was a frizzed-out mess thanks to the humidity.

The day passed like that, and classes were dismissed, though Ingrid thought she might get some studying done before heading home. She decided it would be best to avoid the stares and whispers and find somewhere quiet to study, an empty classroom or something. The school was massive, though, and even after getting the tour from the headmistress before she started, Ingrid wasn’t entirely sure she knew where she was going.

It had been a while since she passed another student, she realized as she ventured into a part of the building she didn’t have any classes in. The hall was lined with sets of double doors, each one with a small placard hanging over with the room number painted in elegant golden script. Ingrid stopped in front of Music Room #3. She couldn’t hear any music coming from the other side, so maybe it was empty? It wouldn’t hurt to check, at any rate. She pushed her way inside. Immediately, the soft aroma of potpourri drifted around her, something faint and floral like rose. Inside, flashing charming, thousand-watt smiles were probably five guys in school uniforms, arranged like they were just waiting for her.

In the back, to the left of an expensive – and occupied – chair stood a tall, bulky boy with coffee skin and white hair, somehow looking both stoic and welcoming at the same time. In front of him, smiling sweetly, was a small boy with silver hair and green eyes that practically had sparkles in them, a dusting of freckles painting his cheeks. Standing on the other side of the chair with perfect posture was a boy with piercing blue eyes and hair like spun gold. In front of him, leaning with his arms crossed on the arm of the chair, a boy with a long, dark ponytail stared off to the side with a disinterested scowl. And in the chair, smiling like it was his job, lounging with his chin perched on the back of his hand, was a boy with vibrant red hair who looked like he was ready to take her apart and put her back together again.

“Welcome,” the five of them greeted in tandem, a well-practiced thing, “to the Garreg Mach Academy Host Club.”

Ingrid blinked, looking between the five of them. The redhead cocked his head to the side, seeing her confusion. “Only those with excellent social standing and those from filthy rich families are lucky enough to spend their time here at the elite private school, Garreg Mach Academy,” he explained in a smooth, silky voice. “The Garreg Mach Host Club is where the school's handsomest boys with too much time on their hands entertain ladies who also have way too much time on their hands. Just think of it as Garreg Mach Academy's elegant playground for the rich and beautiful.”

Ingrid could hardly believe what she was hearing. “This is a host club?” she wondered, bemused as she stepped into the room, the door closing behind her with a soft click. It was a spacious room, matching the grandiose décor of the rest of the school, complete with pedestals set with antique decorations she was sure she would feint if she ever knew the price of. Her eye caught on a crimson orb with an intricate gold inlay that sat on one of the pedestals, gleaming in the early afternoon light that filtered through the arch windows. It reminded her of one of those Fabregé eggs rich people in movies had.

The dark-haired boy regarded her coolly and scoffed. “I can’t tell if this kid’s a guy or a girl.”

“What’s that matter?” she bit back, looking down at her sweater and tugging at the hem a little. Ingrid had never cared how she looked, and she certainly wasn’t trying to impress a bunch of rich jerks, but the guy’s bluntness was kind of off-putting.

“Felix,” the tall, muscular boy said, voice even and monotone, “don’t be rude. I believe ‘this kid’ is in the same class as you, correct?” The dark-haired boy, Felix, shrugged. “You’re the new honor student, are you not?”

The redhead perked up at this. “Honor student? You’re… something something Galley, right?” he mused, waving his hand as if ‘something something Galley’ was a good enough approximation of her name. He stood, crossing slowly toward her, grabbing her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to gag or punch his perfect smile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Right,” she muttered, snatching her hand away. “I’m just gonna go…” She turned back to the door, but the redhead reached around her and panted his palm against the door over her shoulder, stopping her from opening it and leaving – and not for lack of trying.

She turned back to glare at him, only to be met with a dazzling smile and smoldering hazel eyes. He was crowded into her space, so close she could smell his cologne, something warm and woodsy and probably ungodly expensive. “What’s your hurry, esteemed honor student?” he purred. Somewhere behind his shoulder, she heard one of the other boys scoff; Felix, if she had to guess, based on what she’d seen already. “You only just got here, after all. Stay a while. It’s not every day someone gets into Garreg Mach on a scholarship, you know. We’re all so curious to get to know you.”

“Sure,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m sure you’re all so different from the rest of the stuck-up rich kids I’ve met today.” That, at least, made Felix laugh, a small snort as the redhead blinked down at her like a kicked puppy.

“If you give us a chance, I’m sure you’d be surprised.” And, honest to the Goddess, the guy winked at her. “So, tell me, what kind of guy are you into, oh fair honor student?” Ingrid’s cheeks flushed as he slung an arm over her shoulder, guiding her further into the room

“Perhaps you like the strong and silent type,” he mused, gesturing to the tall boy, “like Dedue, our gentle, tender giant.” She stared, bewildered as he continued. Honestly, did the guy not hear himself when he spoke? How did he take himself so seriously? “Or maybe Dimitri is more your speed, our Prince Charming, with a bit of a bad boy streak.” Prince Charming, she got, looking at the guy, but she wasn’t quite sure she could see the bad boy part. “You’ve already met Felix, it seems, our Tsundere-”

“Bite me, Sylvain.”

The redhead – Sylvain – didn’t seem too put off, and Ingrid got the impression he was used to it. “Then there’s our sweet, kind Ashe, the cinnamon bun,” he continued, and Ashe’s cheeks went pink. “And, last but not least, me.” He let go of her shoulder, stepping back to drop into an over-dramatic bow, lifting his head to stare up at her through his thick lashes. “Sylvain Gautier, club president and-”

“Let me guess,” she cut him off, unimpressed, “the obnoxious one?”

“I was going to say the dashing charmer that only true love can reform...” he admitted, pouting a little.

“Look,” she huffed, “I don’t have time for this. I was just looking for somewhere to study in peace, and that’s clearly not here. I have no interest in your little host club, thanks.” She spun on her heel, hearing the soft snicker of Felix who seemed perpetually amused by watching Sylvain strike out.

She didn’t realize how close she’d come the pedestal with the red orb until her elbow bashed into it. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, the pedestal wiggling and the orb spinning around its gilded display stand like a basketball rounding a hoop as fate decided whether it would sink in or roll off the edge. Everyone stared, eyes wide and frozen as fate made its decision, the pedestal coming to a gentle rest…

And the orb rolling off the edge, a victim to cruel gravity as it plummeted toward the gleamingly polished hard wood floor and landed with a _crrr-unch_ that seemed to reverberate through the room, louder than the toll of a bell in Ingrid’s ears.

For a moment, no one spoke, just stared at the orb as it came to a rest, the delicate crimson surface spider-webbed with cracks, but still in one piece. “Way to go, honor student,” Felix finally snorted, sounding just a bit too amused given the situation.

“I… I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.” She backed away slowly, like a criminal at the scene of a brutal murder, hands stained red with blood as the cops circled in around her ready to lock her up and throw away the key. Dedue knelt next to the orb, studying it, picking it up gingerly. The spot where it hit the floor was smashed in, right over the gold inlay. A fine red dust littered the floor.

“Of course you didn’t mean to,” Dimitri allowed, coming up behind her and putting a gentle – large – hand on her shoulder. “It was an accident that could happen to anyone.”

“Pft,” Felix scoffed, still leaning against the chair. His lips were tugged up in a smirk. “That thing’s been there since last year, hasn’t been a problem before.”

“I am so sorry,” she said lamely, burying her face in her hands and wanting nothing more than to sneak away and hide. But, of course, that would be irresponsible… and Dimitri was standing right behind her so she physically couldn’t get away even if she tried.

“Do you know what this is?” Dedue asked, replacing it gently on its stand. She shook her head slowly.

“It’s an antique Crest Stone,” Sylvain explained, examining it with idle curiosity. “There aren’t too many left anymore, you know. Less than twenty, I think.”

“Why was it just sitting in a school?” she wondered in dismay. “Shouldn’t something like that be in a museum or something?” Sylvain, Dimitri, and Felix each gave her an odd look, like that was a strange thing to ask, though Ashe and Dedue looked like they might have been inclined to agree, but they didn’t speak up.

“That hardly matters _now_ , does it, honor student?” Sylvain laughed, ruffling her already disastrous tangle of hair. “You went and broke it. You know what that means?” She just stared at him, hoping he wasn’t about to say what she knew he was about to say. “I don’t know how it is for your people,” as if she was a different species rather than a different socioeconomic class, “but we ‘stuck-up rich kids’ pay for the things were break. Or our parents do, anyway.”

“Oh, right,” Felix laughed. “Just look at the rags our little honor student is wearing, Sylvain. There’s no way that’s happening. The Crest Stone was last appraised at eight million gold.”

Ingrid had thought before that she might feint if she heard the price of the stupid orb. That was an incorrect assessment. A horribly, terribly, terrifyingly incorrect assessment. No, she wasn’t going to feint. She was going to cry, throw up, have a heart attack, and die…

“I… don’t have that kind of money,” she admitted, though it was already painfully obvious. “My dad doesn’t have that kind of money. I can’t pay…”

Sylvain smiled sweetly down at her, sandwiching her between him and Dimitri as he got back into her space, grabbing her chin in a soft hand and tilting her face up toward his. “You could always pay with your body, my sweet honor student,” he whispered.

Anger boiled in her blood, and she smacked his hand away with a _slap_ that echoed through the spacious room. “Pervert.”

He rolled his eyes, seemingly not to deterred. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” he said dryly, even though he _completely_ did. “I _meant_ you can be the Host Club’s little pet. You know, clean up the club room, get us coffee, pick up our dry cleaning, that kind of stuff.”

“You want me to be your errand boy?” she huffed. Even if her errand running paid minimum wage, she’d be old enough to retire by the time she earned enough to pay off the stupid orb.

“Your words, not mine,” he laughed, shrugging lightly. “If you wanna make a little extra on the side, though…” And he winked again, and was insanely lucky Dimitri was still standing there, because he pulled her away before she could punch the stupid smirk off his stupid face. He held up his hands in surrender as his friend held her back. “I was kidding. Geez.”

Once Ingrid was deemed to be no longer a threat to Sylvain’s safety, Dimitri released her. She crossed her arms, pouting just a little as she stared at these five strange, infuriating boys. “Alright,” she sighed. There was no way out of it. “I guess I’m your errand boy now. Yippee.”

“By the way,” Ashe mused, running a hand through his hair and looking a little sheepish, “I don’t think any of us really know your name. Unless you want us to just keep calling your honor student.”

“Ingrid,” she said simply. “Ingrid Galatea.”

Sylvain froze. “Wait. You _are_ a girl?”

She stared up at him, unimpressed. “Does it matter?”

He scrutinized her. “But you’re not wearing any makeup.”

“Who has time for any of that nonsense?” she snapped. “I’m here to learn, not win beauty contests.”

“Obviously,” Felix laughed. She ignored his jab.

“And you’re so… flat-chested.”

It was Ashe who held her back that time, struggling a little. The absolute _nerve_ of him, as if her worth was determined by the size of her chest. Ugh. What a pig. “Um… maybe a little help, Felix?” Ashe plead.

“Why? He brought it on himself, if he gets the snot beat out of him.”

Ingrid drew in a steadying breath. She could tell already that Sylvain was going to be the bane of her existence, and even if she survived long enough to pay off her debt, there were no guarantees _he_ was going to. Slowly, hesitantly, Ashe let her go. “Look, I don’t care if you think I’m girly enough to be a girl, or whatever other dumb sexist ideas you have. I don’t owe you any explanation.”

“I see…” He wasn’t smiling anymore, regarding Ingrid evenly. “I’m sorry if I offended you. That wasn’t my intent.” He _sounded_ sincere enough, but she got the sinking suspicion that he was the kind of guy who was good at lying, at saying exactly what someone wanted to hear in whatever way would get him what he wanted. “Please accept my apology, Ingrid.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

He looked like he wanted to say more on the matter, but thought better of it. Instead, he said, “Now there’s just the little matter of your… attire.” She glanced down at her sweater. Where did these rich snobs get off on constantly deriding her clothes? “We at the Host Club have _standards_ , you see. Can you really not afford a school uniform?”

She glared. “Do you not realize how expensive they are?” The blank looks from all of them told her they, in fact, did _not_ realize how expensive they were. “No. I can’t afford a school uniform right now, considering my family needs to eat more than I need one. I’ve been saving my money to buy one next semester.”

“Next semester?” Ashe echoed, looking like that was the saddest thing he’d ever heard. He turned to Sylvain, all big puppy dog eyes. “Don’t we have that spare uniform she can wear?”

Sylvain considered it. “I mean, yeah, technically…”

“Great!” Ashe clapped excitedly, not giving Sylvain a chance to say anything further before grabbing Ingrid’s hand and dragging her into what, at first, she thought at first was going to be a closet. Instead, it was a large changing room, complete with mirrors that covered the entire wall, a wardrobe that covered the right, and thick white curtains in the back for privacy. Ashe rifled through the wardrobe for a moment before pressing a long garment bag into her hand and ushering her the curtain.

She took her time dressing, wondering how her life had managed to take such a strange turn in such a short amount of time, and how she was going to be stuck with possibly the most obnoxious rich jerk she’d met yet. At some point, Ashe slid a shoe box under the curtain.

Ashe’s eyes lit up when she stepped out from behind the curtain in the new uniform. “Ooh, you look great in that, Ingrid!”

She turned to the mirror, appraising herself. The black pants fit her well, tucked into the shiny black boots Ashe had slipped to her. The white dress shirt was neatly pressed, tucked into the pants. She cut a sharp figure in the black vest, accented with gold loops. The little white cravat was a bit pretentious, but since they were part of the uniform, it worked well with the look.

“Can I do your hair, too?” Ashe wondered, and how could she say no to those big puppy eyes? She nodded a bit reluctantly and let herself be pushed onto a stool. Ashe procured a hairbrush, bobby pins, and several bottles of product from somewhere and got to work taming Ingrid’s nest of frizz, working it into a silky braid that he wound into low bun tucked over the nape of her neck, leaving just a fringe of bangs that made her face look sharp. “What do you think?”

“It’s great,” she told him, honestly. “Thank you, Ashe.”

“Come on, let’s go show everyone else!” He grabbed her hand again, dragging her back out. The others were muttering quietly to themselves, but their conversation cut off when the two of them returned. Ingrid felt like she was being appraised under all of their eyes.

“Not bad,” Felix was the first to acknowledge.

“The uniform suits you,” Dimitri agreed.

“Indeed,” Dedue said simply.

Sylvain was quiet the longest, biting his lip, looking torn about saying what was on his mind. Ingrid arched an eyebrow, putting her hands on her hips expectantly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer… you know… the women’s uniform?”

She looked down at herself. “This one’s fine,” she decided. “Why waste the time and money getting a different one when I’ve already got this one that fits?” He didn’t press, and she decided the matter was settled. “So, am I allowed to go home yet? I need to get back before my dad starts to worry.”

“Right. Yeah, you can go home. Just make sure you’re here at the start of tomorrow’s free period for your first day of your new Host Club duties.” Shocker, he winked. 

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Oh, I can’t wait.” On that note, Ingrid turned her back on them and was finally able to escape Music Room #3.

Until the next day, anyway.


	2. First Day on the Job

By the time Ingrid got home – having to walk several blocks from the Academy to the nearest bus stop because rich assholes wouldn’t be caught dead on the bus, if the student parking lot full of expensive sports cars was any indication – she was exhausted, ready to just collapse into bed and sleep for the rest of her life. Anything would have been better than being stuck as the errand boy to those jerks. For a wild moment, on the bus, she briefly considered changing her name and skipping the country to escape them, but something told her that they would manage to find her anyway.

Her dad was waiting for her when she got home, sitting at the kitchen table in their little apartment reading the news paper. Henry Galatea was a short, balding man, going on forty. He wore cheap suits and always had a nervous look about him. He glanced up when Ingrid closed the door behind her.

“How was your first day, sweetheart?” he wondered excitedly, folding the paper and sitting it off to the side. “Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”

Ingrid forced out a smile. His eyes were so earnest, so happy for her… how could she spoil it for him? He’d done so much for her over the past few months, wholeheartedly supporting what, at the time, seemed like such an unreasonable goal. “It was great, Dad,” she kinda lied. “The school is great. The teachers are great. The students are…”

“Great?” he supplied with a smirk when she hesitated.

“Rich snobs,” she amended, shrugging. “But, I guess they could be worse.”

He regarded her for a moment, head cocked to the side. “Where did you get the uniform?”

“Oh,” she muttered, thumbing at one of the shiny buttons on the vest. “Well… I, um, joined a club.” That was close enough to true, anyway. “They had an extra one laying around, it happened to fit, so they let me have it.”

“Oh, a club, huh? What kind of club?” he wondered.

“Uh…” How could she possibly explain it? The last thing she wanted to do was worry him, and she was pretty sure his heart wouldn’t be able to take it if she told him about the crushing debt she managed to owe. “It’s kind of a… social club. You know, making friends and… studying together, that kind of stuff.” She hated lying to him, but it was better than the truth.

He smiled brightly, which only served to make her feel even more guilty. “I’m glad to hear everything’s coming up Ingrid.”

“Yeah… I’m going to go try and get some homework done before dinner.” He nodded, returning to his newspaper, and Ingrid slunk away to her room, closing the door behind her and leaning heavily on it.

What a mess everything was. Coming up Ingrid, indeed.

She spent the night trying to focus on her homework, though her thoughts kept drifting back to the bizarre Host Club. What kind of high school had a Host Club, anyway? How pretentious could you get? She imagined gaggles of giggling girls tripping over themselves to share tea and dainty snacks with those bunch of pretty boys who clearly thought way too much of themselves, and she wanted to gag. Who would be so desperate?

Idly, she began wondering if the whole club was kind of a joke, an excuse for a bunch of friends to goof off in an empty classroom under the pretense of being a school club. Making her their errand boy was probably some grand joke to them, so they could laugh at the poor, impoverished honor student behind her back while she was out getting them chips and soda.

Okay, maybe they didn’t _all_ seem so bad. Ashe seemed to be sweet to the core. She could definitely see why Sylvain had called him a cinnamon bun. And Dedue was quiet. He didn’t have the same self-certain ‘I’m hot and I know it’ look Sylvain seemed to wear like a badge of honor. She wondered what Dimitri had done to earn the reputation of having a dark side; he seemed so polite and proper, she just couldn’t see it. _Felix_ , sure. He came off as crass and rude, and Ingrid got the feeling that was just what he wanted.

And Sylvain. Ugh. _You’re so… flat-chested_. And he would have been flat-faced if Ashe hadn’t held her back. Just thinking about it made her blood boil. Where did he get off, judging her body within five minutes of meeting. For all the snobby rich guys she’d met, he was far and away the worst of the bunch.

Ingrid slumped in her chair, heaving out a heavy sigh. How in the world was she going to survive being stuck as the Host Club’s gopher for basically the rest of high school? Her eyes fell on the framed photo on her desk. Sybil Galatea was a bright, optimistic woman with straw colored hair and dark eyes. She smiled at the camera, happy as could be, a little eight-year-old Ingrid wrapped in a tight hug in front of her. It was Ingrid’s favorite picture.

Her mother was always strong and brave, so that’s what Ingrid was going to be. She drew in a deep breath, straightening in her chair. If her mother could face every challenge head-on with a smile and a ‘just you try and stop me’ attitude, Ingrid could too. She would not be daunted by the Host Club, it was just another obstacle in her way.

~OoO~

Ingrid headed off to school in better spirits the next morning, complete with her new uniform – after double checking that the school handbook didn’t have some dumb, arbitrary rule about students wearing the uniform that corresponded to their biological sex (it didn’t) – and as good a recreation of the hairstyle Ashe had given her as she could manage. Ingrid had never put much effort into doing her hair, but it turned out decent, if she said so herself.

The uniform did the trick, it seemed; the eyes that had locked on to her the day before, her baggy thrift store sweater marking her very clearly as an outsider, looked right past now that she looked like everybody else. There was comfort in obscurity, she decided, slipping into the desk in the back corner of her homeroom without the whispers that followed her the previous day.

The room was still mostly empty, the bell not set to ring for nearly ten more minutes. A couple students lingered in the doorway, chatting idly about whatever rich people talked about. Ingrid pulled out a book to pass the time. About five minutes passed, and most of the desks were still vacant, only a couple more student having filtered in… and to her surprise, someone plopped down in the desk next to hers. She glanced over, wondering who could have possibly been interested in sitting next to the poor honor student that they so blatantly mocked before.

She was much more surprised to see it was Felix, his long, dark hair pulled back into a sleek pony tail, face unreadable as he pulled crumpled worksheets out of a backpack that was a veritable organizational nightmare. _I believe ‘this kid’ is in the same class as you, correct_? Dedue had asked him the day before, though he’d shrugged as if he hadn’t noticed. And… maybe he hadn’t. She certainly didn’t recognize him when she walked into the music room, after all.

“Why are you staring at me?” he huffed, amber eyes seeming harsh and annoyed as he looked over at her.

She hadn’t realized she was staring and scrambled to think of something to say. “I… just. I’m surprised you decided to sit by me, is all.” He arched an eyebrow. “There are so many empty seats.”

“I always sit in the back.” She glanced over his shoulder, where three other empty desks stood in a line, three other options farther away that he neglected in favor of the seat closest to her. He seemed to realize what she was thinking and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t read too much into it. Figured we might as well get used to each other since you went and broke the Crest Stone like an idiot, and now we’re stuck as clubmates. Not like I can stand anyone else in this class anyway,” he muttered, and she got the distinct impression there was probably a reason he didn’t get along with his classmates, and it might not have been because he didn’t like them.

Though, that really didn’t explain the group that he apparently _could_ stand. The Host Club. Personality wise, he didn’t seem to mesh very well with the rest of the group, who at least pretended to be welcoming and friendly. You know, traits that might have benefited a _host_. And he clearly didn’t bother to hide his contempt for Sylvain. She wondered what kind of dirt Sylvain must have had on him-

“You’re staring again,” he snapped. “If you’re going to spend the whole day ogling guys like all the other girls at this school, at least pretend to be subtle about it.”

She glared. As if. “I wasn’t _ogling_ you,” she bit out. “I was just trying to figure out how a grouch like you ended up in the Host Club.”

He regarded her for a moment, the corners of his lips curling up slightly. “Spite, mostly,” he admitted, though she couldn’t fathom _who_ would be spited by him being a host… but the motive certainly lined up with everything she’d seen of him so far. “But it’s not so bad.”

“Really?” she scoffed, thinking he was possibly just trying to reassure her… but, no, he didn’t really seem like the reassuring type. “I find that hard to believe, considering it means you have to put up with Sylvain.”

He huffed out a small laugh, just a small puff of air really. “Sylvain is… an acquired taste.” His small smirk fell a little, and he looked ahead instead of at her. “He’s really not that bad, under all of the… obnoxious.”

“Yesterday, you seemed like you don’t get along.”

“I don’t get along with most people,” he shot back. “Sylvain… Well, we’ve known each other a long time.”

Ingrid was just about to point out that knowing each other for a long time didn’t mean they had a good relationship, when the bell rang. She glanced up, surprised to see that the rest of the seats around them had filled up without her noticing. Byleth Eisner, their teal-haired teacher who had introduced themself to Ingrid the day before as simply Eisner with an almost complete stoicism that was kind of unnerving, moved to the front of the room and started taking role, forcing their conversation to a premature end. And so began Ingrid’s second day of classes.

Felix continue to stick with Ingrid through their classes, though he wasn’t much for conversation in the few minutes of down time they had between subjects. He seemed disinterested in most of their classes, doodling absently in the margins of his notebooks and only occasionally scrawling down actual notes in chicken scratch handwriting.

Tuesdays and Thursdays for Eisner’s class meant third period physical education. Ingrid wasn’t sure what to expect when it came to phys ed in a school for rich kids, though she found she wasn’t too surprised to learn it included things like archery, fencing, horseback riding, and – to the delight of most of the girls – ballroom dancing. The school even had a state-of-the-art gym, rock climbing walls, and an Olympic sized pool.

After gym, where their gym clothes were thankfully provided by the school so Ingrid wasn’t stuck going through class in her stuffy uniform, was lunch. Yet another thing Ingrid couldn’t afford; the school’s meal plans were ridiculously expensive. She was stuck sitting next to Felix who picked at a meal that looked like it came from the kind fancy Italian restaurant Ingrid would drool over as she walked past the storefront on her way to the supermarket, while she contented herself with her sack lunch of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carrot sticks, and a pudding cup.

Felix was generous, rolling his eyes when he caught her staring at his lunch before silently sliding his barely-touched pasta over to her and stealing her carrot sticks as payment. Ingrid certainly felt like she got the better end of the deal as she bit into the pasta and basically died and went to food heaven. He munched on the carrot sticks with a glower that might as well have been a facial feature for as often as he wore it. “You didn’t have to give me your lunch, you know,” she noted, barely restraining herself from licking the last of the delicious sauce from the plate.

“The sauce was too sweet,” he huffed. She looked down at the plate with her brow furrowed. There had been a slight sweetness, but it could hardly be considered _too_ sweet. “I hate sweet food.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” He glared, pointedly snapping a carrot in half with his teeth and chewing it grumpily. Ignoring him, she opened her pudding, polishing it off in just a few large spoonfuls.

They finished eating in relative silence, Felix pulling out his cellphone and idly scrolling through his social media while Ingrid got started on the homework they’d been assigned. When the bell rang, dismissing them for free period, they headed up to Music Room #3 to meet with the rest of the Host Club.

To Ingrid’s surprise, when they stepped inside - complete with the same floral potpourri scent assaulting them the second the door opened - the décor had changed. Where there had been empty space before, the room was set with elegant tables and enough plush chairs and sofas to seat dozens. Over all, individual pieces of the furniture looked like they probably cost more than all of Ingrid’s belongings put together.

Ashe and Dedue were busy delicately unpacking boxes full of fine china tea sets, seemingly taking inventory. Sylvain was meticulously fussing over the placement of a few of the chairs, moving one before taking a step back to look, changing his mind, and moving it again. Repeatedly. Dimitri was nowhere to be seen.

Felix tossed his backpack carelessly on the floor by the door. “Don’t tell me the boar got detention already,” he called to Sylvain, seeming amused, though Ingrid wasn’t quite sure who ‘the boar’ was.

“Ms. Casagranda is making him write lines in her classroom,” Dedue explained.

“Who are you talking about?” Ingrid wondered.

“Dimitri,” Ashe said, looking rather glum. “He’s always getting detention.”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to reconcile that fact with the prim and proper boy she’d met the day before. “Wait, so the whole bad boy streak wasn’t some stupid joke?”

“Not at all,” Sylvain laughed, suddenly appearing at her shoulder, standing entirely too close. “Don’t let the big, blue eyes fool you. The guy’s got a dark side.”

She glanced at Felix, who leaned against the back of a sofa, nose practically pressed against his phone screen. “Why did you call him the boar?”

He shrugged, not looking up. “Just a dumb nickname from when we were kids.”

Sylvain’s hands came to rest on her shoulders, his chest nearly pressed against her back as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “So, miss honor student, are you ready to get started repaying your debt?” She very eloquently answered his question by elbowing him in the ribs, very satisfied at the way he wheezed, stepping back and rubbing the spot where she’d struck him. And, unless she was much mistaken, she heard a small puff of laughter from Felix. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Ingrid, but I think you might have some anger management issues.”

“Oh, I’m not angry,” she assured him, turning to smile sweetly at him. “I _do_ have issues with people who think they can touch me whenever they want.”

“Duly noted.” After recovering from his very devastating injury, Sylvain was quick to put her to work, setting the tables for tea. She made extra sure to handle the china carefully. The last thing she needed was to break _more_ expensive stuff. While she worked, Sylvain explained their club schedule.

They met every day during free period for planning and prep, but only held club activities for the two hour club time after school on Tuesday through Thursday. Ingrid sighed. It was going to eat up a lot of her study time, but what could she do about it? Her job during club hours was mostly going to be going around pouring tea and seating guests. So much for it being a joke club used as an excuse for a bunch of guys to goof off.

After setting the tables, he had a whole laundry list of chores, from dusting to sweeping to making copies of their club flier and hanging them at bulletin boards around the school. That particular one ate up most of her time, as campus was massive, and she practically had to run to get it done in time.

She barely made it back to Music Room #3 when the bell rang, ending free period. Puffing and panting and slightly sweating, she and Felix returned to their class. The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Final bell dismissed them for the day, and it was with a slight pang of dread that she followed Felix back for her first proper Host Club meeting.

They had fifteen minutes before they were set to open their doors for their guests, and the guys – sans Dimitri, once again – took their places at the various tables. Ashe passed out spreadsheets that Ingrid was surprised to see was a list of reservation time slots. She stared at it, dumbfounded.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, reading over it. There had to be almost three dozen reservations. Ashe blinked, green eyes wide as if he thought she might have been upset with him. “Sorry, it’s just, I didn’t expect you guys would actually get this many people to show up.”

Sylvain laughed, once again appearing by her side as if out of nowhere, though seemingly having learned from his past mistake and maintaining a distance of three feet. “We’re a popular club, Ingrid.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I just don’t get it.”

“There are lots of girls with nothing better to do than spend some time with some good-looking guys.” He shrugged as if it should have been obvious. “What’s not to get?”

“Rich people,” she muttered. She looked at the first time block. “What are you going to do about the people who requested Dimitri if he doesn’t show up?”

“They’re used to it,” Felix offered, lounging in one of the puffy armchairs, unsurprisingly on his phone. “They’ll wait for him.”

“Dimitri will show up before the end of his first time slot,” Dedue added. He checked the time on his phone. “It is nearly time. I'll help you seat the first guests, since I don’t have any guests for a little while.”

“Thanks.”

Seeing the names on the list was one thing, but seeing the girls actually lined up outside the music room hit differently. Mostly, Ingrid was appalled at the amount of actual, genuine effort that seemed to have gone into organizing the Host Club. What kind of high school club had an online reservation system that sent out automated confirmation texts? And as they seated guests, it seemed to be a well-oiled machine. Besides Ingrid, there was always someone free during any given time slot to attend to the guests who were still waiting their turn. It was well thought-out and meticulously executed.

Sure enough, Dimitri slipped in about five minutes after their doors were open, sheepishly sinking into his seat with the five girls who’d reserved the time slot, offering polite but genuine-sounding apologies about how he had to sneak out of detention in order to make it. The girls ate it up, practically swooning and asking for the thrilling details.

There was a lot of that going around, Ingrid noticed. The girls were tripping over themselves to draw the guys’ attention to themselves, fawning over them. Ashe was a sweetheart, flashing warm smiles and telling them all about his latest baking creations. Dedue was polite, yet stoic, listening to their worries and offering practical advice. Felix, unsurprisingly, remained aloof as the girls tried to pry his attention away from his phone, seeming to melt when he so much as spared them a glance.

And Sylvain… Sylvain was exactly what she’d expected. Unabashedly flirting and putting on a good show of being intense and charming. When he looked at a girl, it was as if he was trying to use his eyes alone to convince her she was the only girl in the room. And, what was worse, it seemed to work. Girls flushed bright red, demured, giggled behind their hands.

As the time wore on, Ingrid began to notice a lot of whispers around the tables about her, the girls wondering who the new kid in their club was. She was pouring tea at Sylvain’s table when she heard it: “Aw, look how cute, Sylvain,” a snobby sounding girl laughed. Ingrid glanced up, seeing a pretty bottle-blonde girl with her arm wound through his on the sofa they shared, practically sitting in his lap with as close as she was. "The honor student can’t even pour tea properly.”

Ingrid straightened, arching an eyebrow and placing a hand on her hip. “I’m sorry, what’s wrong with the way I pour tea?” The girl glanced up, taken aback that Ingrid had spoken up. “It’s in the cup, isn’t it?”

The girl gave her a withering look for a long moment before turning to Sylvain. “You let _the help_ speak that way to your guests?”

“Anthiese,” Sylvain said, frowning and pulling his arm away from hers. “That’s not-”

“ _The help_ ,” Ingrid huffed, “can hear, you know.” The girl rolled her eyes. Geez, with all their money, you would think they could afford some manners.

“Ingrid,” Sylvain muttered, subtly shaking his head, “maybe you should see if Ashe needs anything, okay?”

Feeling all eyes on her, anger still roiling in her stomach, Ingrid walked away. Ashe and all of the girls that surrounded him were all big eyes full of concern, asking if she was okay. One of the girls even invited her to sit with them and have some tea. She hesitated, but Felix, who was guest-free for the moment caught her eye and gave her a look that said ‘just sit down and shut up,’ so who was she to refuse?

“Don’t pay any attention to Anthiese,” one of the girls told her, handing Ingrid a cup of steaming chamomile tea. “She’s rude to everybody.”

“Yeah,” another girl added earnestly, “she thinks just because her dad is the president of Valentia Memorial Hospital, she gets to treat people however she wants.” Ingrid nearly choked on her tea. Valentia Memorial was one of the biggest and most state-of-the-art hospitals in Fódlan.

By the time Ingrid finished her tea, Ashe and the girls had her feeling a lot better. The timer for the time slot went off, and she had to get back to work. Sylvain took over for Felix, and as they were showing the guest out, the sound of glass smashing on the ground startled them all.

“Oops,” Anthiese said, breaking the silence that fell over the room. “How clumsy of me.” There was a mess of tea and broken china at her feet. “Oh, honor student, would you be a dear and clean this up?”

Ingrid drew in a deep breath and was about to go get a broom and dust pan to sweep up the broken glass when Sylvain spoke. “I’ll get it.”

Anthiese looked like she swallowed a lemon. “You?” she laughed. “Don’t be silly, Sylvain. That’s why you surround yourself with those charity cases, isn’t it?” Ingrid was surprised when Anthiese gestured to Ashe and Dedue as well as herself when she spoke. It didn't seem to faze Dedue, but Ashe dropped his head, cheeks flushing.

“That’s enough, Anthiese,” Sylvain sighed. “Your time is over. You should go.” There was no room for argument in his tone, and with a scowl that Ingrid was sure made her parents bend over backwards to get rid of, Anthiese stalked toward the door. Slowly, things returned to normal, girls moving around them to get to the tables.

But Ingrid was more focused on Sylvain, who was… somehow struggling to figure out how to remove the dust pan from the handle of the broom. With a sigh, she joined him, pulling the broom from his hand. “I said I’d take care of it, Ingrid,” he muttered.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sylvain, have you ever used a broom before?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “How hard could it be?”

Before Ingrid could shoot back that she had no doubt he’d be the one person in the world who could manage to _not_ figure out how a broom worked, there was a slick scuff and a sharp yelp.

It happened in a blur, almost as if in slow motion. Ingrid acted on instinct, dropping the broom and twisting to catch a girl who had slipped on the spilled tea, her black pleated skirt ruffling dramatically as she fell. It was like something out of a movie, the hero catching the fair maiden in their arms before she could fall to her doom.

It took a moment for the girl to realize she was no longer falling, her eyes squeezed shut. Slowly, she blinked up at Ingrid with eyes that practically sparkled. “You… you _saved_ me.”

Ingrid laughed, too shocked to move, holding the girl in her arms, dipped like they were in the midst of a dance. “I wouldn’t say _saved_.”

The girl would not be dissuaded. She wrapped her arms around Ingrid’s neck. “My hero,” she cooed. Before Ingrid knew what was happening, she was swarmed by girls, swooning and fawning and commending her for her heroic deed. Despite her protests, they were adamant.

She was vaguely aware of Dedue sweeping up the mess in Sylvain’s stead, while the redhead watched on, head cocked the side. She plead silently with her eyes ‘help me out, please!’ With a laugh, Sylvain clapped sharply, drawing the attention of the gaggle of girls.

“Wow,” he mused, stepping forward toward Ingrid, “what an exciting day this has been. I think we can all agree that it was quite a way to welcome Ingrid to the Host Club, huh?” The girls giggled a resounding agreement. “With that said, I have some exciting news. Starting next week, we will begin taking reservations to spend time with our gallant knight in shining armor, Ingrid Galatea.”

The squeal of excitement that filled the room could have shattered glass.


	3. Anthiese

Ingrid was too dumbfounded to say much of anything the rest of the afternoon. She’d agreed to being the Host Club’s errand boy, not a host herself. Where did Sylvain get off, making that kind of decision without even discussing it with anybody else. The girls around them were ecstatic, congratulating Ingrid and promising they would come to see her soon.

Once the last session of the day ended and all of the girls were shown out, Ingrid rounded on Sylvain. “I did _not_ agree to being a host,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

Sylvain grinned. “Do you really have a choice?” Her glare didn’t waiver, though Sylvain was not one to be deterred. “Besides, it’ll be a lot more fun being a host than _the help_ , don’t you think?” It should have sounded like he was mocking her, just like Anthiese, but something about his tone made her think otherwise.

“You didn’t even ask me.”

“Come on, Ingrid,” he plead, all big hazel puppy dog eyes, “trust me on this one.” She scowled away, looking at the other faces that stared at their exchange in mute interest, hoping for one of them to back her up. Dedue looked stoic as ever, Dimitri sympathetic. Ashe seemed excited at the prospect. And Felix couldn’t be bothered to do more than roll his eyes, not looking up from his phone. “I’ll even make you a deal.”

“What deal?” she sighed.

“If you can get a hundred requests, then we’ll call your debt repaid.” All eyes fell on Sylvain, silent and shocked.

Each of them had seen at least twenty girls, in just one day. The deal sounded too good to be true. “What’s the catch?” she wondered. “At the rate you had visitors today, I’d have it paid of by the end of the month.”

Sylvain laughed, taking a step closer and almost putting his arm over her shoulder before thinking better of it. He pulled the schedule from her hand, flipping through it quickly. “Oh, those weren’t all _requests_.” When he handed the paper back, he pointed out a specific name on the line, a small star that she’d paid no attention to earlier marking it as different from the other names. “Most of our guests don’t have a preference and are randomly assigned based on availability. Sometimes, though, if they want to sit with a specific member, they can put in a request. Get one hundred requests, and we’ll call it even.”

Ingrid flipped through the schedule quickly, and her heart sunk at what she saw: there had been a grand total of _three_ requests for the whole day. One for Ashe, one for Dimitri, and one for Sylvain. “Anthiese requested you,” she noted dryly. Of course she had.

Sylvain’s face darkened, and he rubbed the back of his head for a moment. “She requests me a lot,” he admitted. “She’s always kind of…”

“Mean?” Ashe offered.

“Insane,” Felix snorted.

“I was going to say intense,” Sylvain laughed. “But, yeah, pretty much. I’ve talked to her about toning it down, but she’s been getting worse for a while. Her behavior today was over the line.” With a sigh, Sylvain turned to Felix. “When you add Ingrid to the reservation system, blacklist Anthiese.”

This drew the dark-haired boy’s attention up from his screen, and he arched an eyebrow at his friend. “For real?” Sylvain nodded. “Your dad’s not gonna be very happy with you when he finds out.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Sylvain bit out with a roll of his eyes.

“What would your dad care?” Ingrid couldn’t help but wonder.

“Sylvain’s father owns a company that supplies medical equipment to major hospitals all over Fódlan, including Valentia Memorial.” Dimitri explained when Sylvain didn’t seem interested in talking about it. Ingrid must have had a blank expression that made it clear that his explanation didn’t answer her question, because Dimitri continued a moment later. “A lot of parents of students at this academy know each other and work with each other professionally. If Anthiese tells her father that Sylvain was rude to her, even though she was in the wrong, it may sour his opinion of Sylvain’s father and complicate business between the two.”

“That’s dumb,” she decided. “Their business has nothing to do with their kids.”

Sylvain just shrugged. “Those are the waters.” He was still making the odd, morose expression, but he seemed mostly unbothered by it. “Anyway, do we have a deal?”

Ingrid bit her lip, considering it. She hadn’t agreed to being a host, true, but would it really be worse than being their errand boy? And, even at the slow rate they seemed to get requests, getting a hundred seemed like it would be faster than simply working for the Host Club until she graduated. With a sigh, she relented. “Fine.”

“I knew you’d come around,” Sylvain said triumphantly. “And you might even enjoy yourself.”

“Right,” she snorted. She glanced at the clock on the wall and went to grab her backpack off the hooks that lined the wall by the door. “I should go before I miss the bus and have to wait for the next one.”

Sylvain’s brow furrowed. “The bus?”

“Yeah, I live on the other end of town. I take the bus.”

“Ew.” Ingrid wanted nothing better than to knock the look of disdain off of Sylvain’s face. “No offense, but who would want to ride on a crowded, smelly bus?”

She rolled her eyes, starting for the door. “No one asked you, Sylvain.”

“Wait,” he called, running over and blocking the door, just like he’d the day she first stumbled into Music Room #3. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“Yes, it was.”

“If you want, I can drive you home so you don’t have to ride the bus.”

She stared at him blankly, and realized he was very serious. “Pass.”

The wounded puppy dog look returned. “Why?”

“I don’t want you to know where I live,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “You could be a creepy stalker for all I know.” Behind her, she heard Felix snort in laughter. “Now, would you please move so I can get to the bus stop?”

Holding his hands up in surrender, Sylvain stepped to the side, bidding her a good evening as she headed out the door.

~OoO~

Wednesday passed without too much fanfare, though the stream of excited chatter about girls being excited by the prospect of Ingrid starting as a Host the following week followed her all day, right up until the Host Club shut its doors for the day. Thankfully, Anthiese hadn’t been among the guests for the day. And Sylvain seemed to have started getting the message that Ingrid wasn’t going to be swayed by his charm and flirting the way the girls who threw themselves at his feet were. It was funny watching him try, though, she had to admit.

Thursday was different.

She ran into Felix outside the gate where he climbed out of a sleek, shiny black car with tinted windows, just one of many in the long procession of cars lined up to drop off the students too young to drive.

Over the past couple of days, she’d learned the ages of her fellow Host Club members: Felix would turn sixteen in less than six months; Dimitri in four; Sylvain turned seventeen over the summer; Dedue had just turned sixteen; and Ashe was the youngest at fourteen. Ingrid herself would turn sixteen right in between Dimitri and Felix. She had been putting some money aside to buy a car from her father’s used car lot, but the prospect of drawing attention to herself by parking an early 2000s Toyota or something alongside a parking lot full of practically brand new hybrids and convertibles made her hesitate.

Felix slid right up along side her, walking through the crowd with surprising grace for someone so absorbed in their phone. It was strange; she supposed they were friends now, if only for the lack of a better word to describe it. They didn’t talk all that much, not outside of Felix pestering her to copy her math homework or laughing about the stupid things Sylvain said in their group chat, but he seemed to have latched on to her as the only Host Club member he saw throughout the day, claiming she wasn’t as annoying as their classmates.

As they stepped into the entrance hall, a ruckus drew their attention – and they weren’t the only ones. A small crowd of onlookers was gathered around what sounded like a hysterical crying girl. Ingrid froze, Felix coming to a stop a couple steps ahead of her when he realized she’d stopped moving. She stood on her toes, craning to see.

She could just make out Sylvain’s bright hair over the heads of the other students, ruffled as he ran his hand through it. “You can’t do this to me, Sylvain!” the girl bawled, and between the shoulders of two students who blocked the way, Ingrid could just make out a flash of long, platinum blonde hair.

“Anthiese,” she could barely hear Sylvain say evenly over the murmur of the crowd, “calm down. You’re making a scene.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do!” Sylvain staggered back, and a gasp of surprise stirred through the crowd. Did she just shove him? “How dare you?”

“That right there is exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, voice firm. “You can’t just treat people like that.”

Anthiese’s words were bordering on incoherent, and Ingrid’s feet starting carrying her forward before she noticed it. Straining to see over people’s heads, she could just see Sylvain gently holding Anthiese at bay by her shoulders as her fists beat against his chest, his arms, hurling insults and pleas at him. Someone, it seemed, had never heard the word ‘no’ and was collapsing in on herself as a result.

A hand around her bicep drew her back, and she wheeled around to see a grim-faced Felix shaking his head. She tried to yank her arm away, but Felix was apparently stronger than he looked as she couldn’t manage to pull free. “Let me go,” she huffed, indignant.

“Nope.” There was no room for argument in his tone, and he started hauling her away through the throngs of students moving closer.

“Sylvain-”

“Will be fine,” he cut her off. His jaw was set in a hard line; it wasn’t easy for him to drag himself away when his friend was being assaulted by a crazy girl, but he seemed to have deemed it more important to get Ingrid away. “He doesn’t need your help. Don’t get involved.”

“But-”

“Ingrid.” He stopped dead in the middle of the stairs, spinning around to meet her eyes evenly, gripping both of her arms tight. “Don’t. Get. Involved.” Felix’s eyes were always intense, but seeing him like that was something entirely different. His normal aloof attitude was gone, replaced by something serious. “Anthiese is not someone an honor student like you can afford to piss off.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Her uncle’s on the board of education. She can make your life very miserable.” That, she thought, seemed horribly unfair, that a student could have that much influence over the education of her classmates. “The rest of us, our families donate enough money to the school every year that there’s not a whole lot Anthiese can do to us, but you don’t have that luxury. Stay away from her.”

She nodded solemnly. “Okay.” Felix stared at her a moment longer, as if trying to decide if she was just humoring him or if she was serious. With a sigh, he let go of her and they headed to class together. Most of their classmates ended up tardy, too caught up watching the drama below to care about getting to class until a faculty member broke it up, sent them to the office, and everyone else to their homerooms.

It seemed everyone was distracted through their lessons after that. Even Felix, who seemed to pay attention for the first time Ingrid had seen, actually taking notes rather than doodling in the margins of his notebook (only one, she noted; he crammed all of his subjects haphazard into the same notebook, sometimes even on the same page. How did he study?).

They walked in silence to gym class, splitting up only to head into their respective changing rooms. Ingrid wasn’t paying much attention as she stuffed her backpack into the locker she’d been assigned, #21. As she changed, she became aware of the way that the chatter of the girls around her had entirely faded, and out of the corner of her eye she could see nervous eyes sparing quick glances toward her before darting away.

She tried to ignore it, changing into the gym uniform quickly. When she turned around to put her tennis shoes on, she nearly jumped out of her skin; Anthiese was on the opposite side of the room, glaring daggers at her as she sat on a bench, pulling the blue stockings that were part of the female uniform up her pale, slender legs. Three other girls sat around her, glaring with equal fury. The rest of the girls in the room watched, tense and unwilling to say anything lest they put themselves in the line of fire.

Apparently, Anthiese had second period gym. Goody. Ingrid didn’t balk under their scrutiny, quickly kneeling down to tie her shoe laces. Anthiese didn’t say anything, for which Ingrid was grateful. Not sparing another glance at the girl, Ingrid rushed out of the room.

Felix was waiting in the hall for her, leaning against it and – surprise, surprise – scrolling on his phone. He spared her a glance when she came up beside him, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“Remember how you told me not to make an enemy of Anthiese?”

“That was two hours ago,” he said dryly, the two of them heading out to the athletic pitch unhurried, a few of their classmates along with them. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I think that ship may have sailed.” He arched an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “Did you know she has second period gym?”

“No.”

“Neither did I. She was still in there when I went in, and she glared at me the whole time.” He sighed, flicking a stray strand of hair out of his face impatiently. “She blames me for what happened on Tuesday.”

“You did talk back to her,” he allowed, voice dripping with sarcasm. His attempt at cheering her up, maybe?

“Yeah, because I’m not a doormat.” She rolled her eyes. “ _Oh, Sylvain, you let_ the help _talk like that_? Ugh.” They made it to the field, a row of archery targets set up for them to practice on. They were forced to put their conversation on hold while the gym teacher gave instructions.

Felix, she learned, was pretty decent at archery.

Ingrid, she already knew, was also pretty decent archery. Not the best, but certainly doing better than some of the students. Felix seemed impressed as he regarded the arrows she’d sunk into the target. Not bullseyes, but hey, neither were his. “Where’d you learn that?” he wondered as they were cleared to go retrieve their arrows.

“My aunt and uncle own a farm,” she explained with a shrug. “I used to go visit them all the time. They had this big plot of woods on their property. My uncle used to take me deer or turkey hunting. I was better with a gun, but I did okay with the bow.”

He gave her an odd look. “Hunting?” She nodded. “Isn’t that… gross? Like, isn’t there blood and stuff?”

She laughed. “Oh, poor rich, city boy. Afraid to get your hands dirty?” He scowled at her, flipping her a rude gesture when he was sure the teacher wasn’t looking. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Whatever you say,” he snorted.

By the time gym class ended, Felix had nearly made her forget about Anthiese. She was smiling again when she returned to the changing room, changing back into her uniform without the feeling of impending doom courtesy of Anthiese’s evil glare.

Then she opened her locker, #21.

And it was empty. She stared blankly, unable to comprehend what she was seeing – or rather what she _wasn’t_ seeing. She closed the door, making double sure she wasn’t looking in the wrong locker. It was definitely #21.

“Is something wrong, Ingrid?” one of the girls wondered, tying the bow that the female uniforms had in place of a cravat, concerned by Ingrid’s blank stare into an empty locker.

“My backpack is missing.”

The girl’s brow furrowed, and a couple other girls looked over, curious. They all dutifully helped her look in the surrounding lockers, check the shower stalls and the bathroom stalls, look in the supply closet in the back of the room, but to no avail. Her backpack was nowhere to be seen. No one else was missing their backpack either, they all confirmed.

Ingrid’s stomach twisted into knots. She had a pretty good idea where it went. Forcing a reassuring smile that she was sure it would turn up and quickly thanking them for their help, Ingrid stormed out, passing where Felix was already waiting without stopping to see if he was following after.

“What’s wrong now?” he sighed, catching up quickly. “Where’s your stuff?”

“Dunno,” she huffed. “Give you three guess who _does_.”

“You think Anthiese took your backpack?”

“Who else?”

The same somber, serious look from that morning was back in his eyes. “Look, I know you’re mad, but confronting Anthiese directly is a really bad idea-”

“Oh, I’m not that dumb,” she laughed. “I’m going to the office to report it missing. If someone _happens_ to find her with my stolen backpack, I can’t imagine that will look very good for her.”

“Smart,” he laughed. He waited patiently while she stopped into the office, explaining her situation without specifically mentioning Anthiese’s ~~possible~~ ~~probable~~ definite involvement. The secretary seemed very upset to hear that there may have been a theft on school grounds and assured her that all staff would be alerted to keep an eye out for her backpack, writing down a detailed description (with some confusion when Ingrid was unable to provide a brand name as it had been a thrift store purchase) that would be sent out to the faculty post haste.

With that out of the way, they headed to lunch. Felix very generously split his lunch – some delicious French dish Ingrid didn’t know the name of – as hers had been in her backpack. She was in too much of a sour mood to enjoy it to the fullest (she still enjoyed it quite a lot, though).

After lunch was free period, of course, and they headed to Music Room #3 together. Everyone was already gathered, Dimitri included, when they arrived, all sitting around one of the tables rather than getting any work done. Sylvain looked just about a glum as she felt, Ashe was was worried, Dimitri concerned, and Dedue stoic. When the door closed behind them, Sylvain glanced up, casting a half-hearted wave over to them.

“You guys look about as bummed as I do,” he tried to joke, but his small smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess I’m not the only one having a bad day.”

“No,” Felix agreed, flopping down one of the chairs next to Sylvain and tossing his backpack carelessly on the floor beside him. “And I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s for the same reason.”

Sylvain’s brow furrowed. “What, is Anthiese harassing you now, too?”

Felix jerked his head over toward Ingrid, who was still standing awkwardly behind Felix’s chair. Sylvain’s face fell. “What did she do?”

“Stole my backpack out of my gym locker,” she sighed, finally sinking down on the divan next to Ashe, propping an elbow on her knee and leaning heavily on her hand. “I reported it missing to the office before lunch… I thought it would be better to keep her name out of it for now, though, so she doesn’t have _more_ of an excuse to go after me.”

The look Sylvain was fixing her with was different than his usual, flirty puppy dog eyes that were meant to garner sympathy. He seemed really put out. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She shrugged. “‘S not your fault.” He looked like he disagreed, but held his tongue.

None of them spoke for a moment. “So,” Felix finally muttered, “what happened after your little fight got broken up?”

Sylvain ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. “Well, we were taken to the office, of course. Headmistress Rhea talked to me and poor Mr. Cichol got stuck with Anthiese. She tried playing the victim, but there were a lot of witnesses who backed up the fact that she was the one harassing me, so…” He shrugged. “I dunno what magic words she said, but she didn’t get in any trouble either.”

Ingrid stared out the window over the campus’ well-manicured front courtyard, forlorn. “I take back what I said on Monday about all of you being the same as all the other stuck-up rich kids here,” she admitted, swallowing her pride a little. “After dealing with Anthiese, I don’t think I can really lump everyone into the same category as her.”

That at least, drew a few light lights. Ashe patted her arm softly. She was about to turn to him, to say something, but her words died in her throat as a bright pop of color outside caught her eye, one that definitely didn’t belong among the green of the lawn and the gray stone of the academy’s walls.

She rushed over to the window, practically pressing her nose to the glass and squinting. There, handing from a low branch in one of the ancient oak trees that shaded the lawn, was a splash of teal. The same shade of teal as her backpack.

“She didn’t,” she huffed, her breath fogging the window. “Oh my god, she actually did-”

The guys were staring at her as if she’d grown a second head, but she ignored them, sprinting out the door. She was vaguely aware of footsteps following after her, but she was too busy taking the stairs three at a time to look back and see which one of them was following her. She paid no mind to the eyes that followed her as she darted past, nor the shout of teachers yelling at her to stop running in the halls.

Outside, a few students milled around, lounging on picnic blankets in the shade and chatting. She was panting by the time she came to a stop underneath the oak tree. Sure enough, her backpack hung from a branch by one of the straps, about ten feet in the air. She sighed, staring up at it dejectedly as Sylvain came to a stop next to her.

“Is that your backpack?” he asked, slightly winded himself.

“Yup.” She would have to go into the office, get them to have a maintenance member get a ladder-

Sylvain pressed his vest into her hands, pulling her out of her thoughts. She blinked over at him, confused, as he cravat joined after and he busied himself rolling his white shirtsleeves up to his elbows, showing off just the slightest hint of lean muscle. “What are you doing?”

He studied the tree with scrutinizing hazel eyes. “I’m going to get your backpack.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He just tossed a cocky smirk over his shoulder, rubbing his hands together and starting his climb. Panic welled inside her as she glanced back up at the bag. “Sylvain, seriously. You’re going to fall and crack your head open.”

“Nah,” he insisted, choosing his footing and handholds carefully, already about four feet off the ground. “I’m really good at the rock climbing stuff in gym, you know.” By this point, a crowd of whispering students was gathering around, and the rest of the Host Club – who hadn’t run like crazy people after her and Sylvain – came to a stop behind her.

Sylvain didn’t seem to be lying, in any case, climbing quickly and efficiently up, using knots in the wood and low branches to his advantage. By the time he was about eight feet up, he’d almost disappeared among the leaves, only the bright red of his hair standing out in contrast against the green.

She was practically holding her breath as he shimmied along the branch that held her backpack. The main branch was thick and sturdy enough to hold a roughly six-foot tall seventeen year old boy, thankfully. He had to lay flat on his stomach to reach the smaller branch that the strap of her bag was looped around.

He held it up triumphantly. “Head’s up, Fe,” he called, and tossed it a moment later. Felix caught it easily, handing it over to Ingrid. She was more concerned about Sylvain, though, as he scooted himself backwards along the branch and started his descent.

She didn’t relax until he was safely back on the ground, grinning down at her like a champion who’d fought for his ladies’ honor. His shirt was torn with small snags from the rough bark, and it looked like his hands and forearms had gotten their fair share of splinters for the effort, but he looked entirely unconcerned with all of that.

She held her backpack tight to her chest. “Thanks,” she sighed. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

He winked, and she couldn’t even be annoyed by it. “It was nothing,” he assured her. “Kinda fun actually.”

“Well, I’m glad you had _fun_ , Mr. Gautier,” a stern man’s voice called from behind the crowd, which parted quickly. A teacher with gray hair, a bushy mustache, and a monocle stepped forward.

“Ah, Mr. Essar,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t you know how incredibly dangerous that was?” Mr. Essar scolded. “And climbing trees on school property is expressly prohibited, besides.” Ingrid racked her brain trying to recall seeing that rule in the student handbook, and couldn’t.

“I was just trying to-”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Essar dismissed, “always trying to impress the young ladies, I’m well aware.” Sylvain’s face fell a little, deflated. “You’ll be joining me during free period tomorrow, and all of next week. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

Sylvain sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Satisfied, Mr. Essar turned away, ordering the students who lingered to disperse unless they wanted to join Sylvain. The Host Club was left alone. It had certainly been a rollercoaster of events. After a long silence, Sylvain turned back to them, trying for a positive smile. “Eh. Worth.”

The guys laughed, all heading back in before the bell rang for the end of free period. Ingrid looked down at her backpack, and back up at Sylvain. He was laughing and joking already, unconcerned; he glanced back at her, catching her staring. The smile he gave her was genuine, and Ingrid got the impression that her initial assumptions about Sylvain might have been a little unfair.


	4. The (im)Perfect Prince Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: underage smoking and references to prescription drug abuse.

Free period without Sylvain due to his stunt climbing the tree (which Ingrid couldn’t find anything about in the Student Handbook, so it wasn’t as _expressly prohibited_ as Mr. Essar had claimed) proved to be a bit lacking. It wasn’t until he wasn’t there that Ingrid realized just how much he filled the silence that seemed to fall over them without him. There was probably a joke in there about him just liking the sound of his own voice, but there was no point saying out loud it since he wasn’t there to pretend to be offended.

His detention didn’t stop him from leaving Felix a laundry list of things he expected them to do on Monday in his absence, however. Dimitri was also MIA, though according to Dedue he’d been on his best behavior and wasn’t currently in detention that he knew of. Dedue, she couldn’t help but notice, was being very vague in his answers, and Ingrid got the impression Dedue knew exactly where Dimitri was, but was unwilling to share that information with the rest of them.

“Here,” Felix said briskly, shoving a piece of paper into her hand and pulling her out of her musings from where she stood staring blankly out the window. “We’re doing origami this week. Make yourself useful and go to the art building to pick up some paper from Mr. Shipero” She glanced down at the paper in her hand.

 _Please supply the Host Club with some paper for club activities this week. I’ll pay you back later_ ~~_;) -Manuela_ ~~ _Ms. Casagranda_

Ingrid’s brow furrowed as she read over it. She hadn’t met Ms. Casagranda yet, though she had a bit of a reputation among both the staff and students, but the hastily scribbled-out winking face on what should have been a professional note certainly threw Ingrid for a moment. “Why do we have a note from Ms. Casagranda?” she wondered.

“She’s our club advisor,” he explained with a shrug. “None of the other teachers would have ever signed off on a stupid idea like a Host Club. She only agreed because faculty members are all supposed to be involved in some sort of student organization, and since our club doesn’t really need much help from a teacher, it means she doesn’t have to do much work beyond signing things and writing notes.”

“Okay, then.” Shaking her head, Ingrid headed out toward the art building. It was a small, square building on the east side of campus, with lots of windows for natural light and interesting art installations both outside the building and inside. She headed quickly through the halls toward Mr. Shipero’s room. He wasn’t there when she walked in, but a student who spent their free period as his aide was more than happy to help after reading (and blushing profusely over) Ms. Casagranda’s note. With her origami paper in hand, Ingrid started back for the main building.

As she was walking, the sound of a harsh coughing froze her in her tracks. She listened as someone hacked for a moment, dry and thick. Was someone sick? Did they need help? The coughing stopped a moment later, but she followed where she thought it had come from, rounding toward the back of the building.

She was surprised to find Dimitri sitting against a wall next to a large AC unit, the machine whirring softly. He didn’t see her as she approached slowly, and before she spoke to ask if he was okay, she noticed the slight curl of smoke from his lips. She stopped dead, dumbfounded.

Dimitri was smoking.

“You smoke?” she blurted out tactlessly, making the boy jump, abashed and frantically trying to hide the cigarette from sight. He glanced up at her, cheeks flushed bright pink, only to relax slightly once he realized it was Ingrid and not a teacher.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly, no longer bothering to hide it since she’d already seen. “It’s a vape pen,” he muttered, holding it up for her to see the slender silver cylinder, “though I realize that’s hardly any better.” Still reeling from her shock, she moved slowly, sitting down on the cement next to him and leaning against the wall. He took a drag, vapor curling from his lips. “I won’t blame you if you decide you need to report this, you know.”

“I’m not going to report you,” she said softly. While Ingrid wasn’t a fan of smoking – in any of its forms – and Dimitri, being a minor, was doing so illegally, she wasn’t going to rat someone out for something that was really harming only him. There were, after all, worse habits he could have.

“I… Thank you.” They were silent for a moment. Ingrid hadn’t spoken much to Dimitri since joining the Host Club, and she’d certainly never spent any significant time alone with him. She was still trying to reconcile the prince charming persona she’d seen when he sat with girls at the Host Club with the boy smoking in secret behind the art building. “You’re quite surprised, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she admitted with a weak chuckle. “You don’t seem like the type to smoke.”

He laughed, a little sadly, and his blond locks bounced as he shook his head lightly. “I suppose I don’t.”

“Is this why everyone thinks you have a ‘bad boy’ side? Why you’re always getting detention?”

“Ah, no, actually. To be honest, none of the others know, except for Dedue.” Which explained his vague answers before. “And I’ve never been caught before now.”

“Then what’s that about?” He hesitated, taking a long drag to put off answering. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. I’m just being nosy.”

“No, it’s fine,” he sighed, though he still took a moment before answering, staring blankly ahead. “I have difficulty sleeping. It’s been a problem most of my life. I’m on medication for insomnia, though sometimes…” He hesitated again, licking his lips. “Sometimes I… neglect to take it. When that happens, when I don’t sleep, I get irritable. I get detention because I come in late and mouth off to my teachers when I’m in a bad mood, and I fall asleep in class.”

Ingrid considered this for a moment, unable to shake the feeling that there was more there that Dimitri was unwilling to say, but not wanting to push him and make him uncomfortable. “So you’re labeled as a ‘bad boy’ because you get detention sometimes?” That seemed a bit harsh, even for a snooty prep school.

He chuckled again. “Not quite.” She waited to let him answer on his own. If he didn’t want to tell her, she wasn’t going to pry more than she already had. “I got that label because I spent three months last school year in rehab.”

“Really?” That made even less sense than the smoking, and Ingrid was struggling to keep a straight face while trying to fit the pieces together.

“Unfortunately,” he sighed.

“What for…?”

He frowned. “My parents sent me because they were concerned I was addicted to my insomnia medication.” Another long, slow drag. “I wasn’t – and I’m not just saying that because some people don’t realize they have a problem – but I don’t blame them for making the decision they did, they were just trying to do what they thought was best for me.”

“Still, that’s pretty awful, if you didn’t actually have a problem.”

He shrugged, fiddling for a moment with his vape pen before stowing it in his pocket. “Like I said, it’s not their fault.” The way he said it, Ingrid wondered if it was _somebodies_ fault, but Dimitri seemed like he was done talking about it and she would respect that. “We should get back.”

“Yeah.” He helped her to her feet and they walked back to the main building, Dimitri popping a couple breath mints and politely offering her one which she took. “Could I ask another question about something less personal?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you join the Host Club? I’ve been trying to figure out what brought all of you to do something so… ridiculous. Felix said he joined out of spite.”

“That does sound like Felix,” he laughed before he paused to consider her question for a moment. “I suppose I joined because Sylvain is my friend. It’s been very good for him, believe it or not, and I’m happy to be able to help him.”

“Help him with what?” she wondered. “How’s it been good for him?”

He looked pensive for a long moment. “It’s not really my place to get too deep into this,” he said apologetically, “especially not things he told me in confidence. But you didn’t know Sylvain until last week. Even just last year, when he started the club, he was a very different person. The Host Club’s been good for him, I think, because he’s been… I don’t know… happier? Less… self-destructive? I suppose that doesn’t help much if you don’t have the old Sylvain to compare to.”

She tried to picture a less happy and more self-destructive Sylvain, but Dimitri was right; without something to compare to, her theoretical Sylvain fell flat. They were nearly back to Music Room #3. “I guess if Sylvain wants to tell me about it,” she decided, coming to a stop outside the door, “he will.”

~OoO~

Ingrid didn’t end up seeing Sylvain again until after school on Tuesday, as his detention had been strictly served during free period. He strolled into the Music Room #3 just like every other day and started handing out instructions to them while they set up as if he hadn’t been gone during their planning period.

He smiled just as easily as always, flashing cocky winks and letting loose the typical barrage of flirty one-liners in that irritatingly ‘charming’ tone he seemed so adept at. Ingrid couldn’t shake from her mind what Dimitri had said when they talked the day before, that starting the Host Club had been helpful to Sylvain in some way, that he was happier than he had been. But watching him in that moment, Ingrid still found herself unable to picture him any other way. How different could he really have been?

The familiar list of names was pushed into Ingrid’s hand by Felix, pulling her from her thoughts. She noticed Sylvain standing off to her side, grinning deviously down at her. “Ready for your first day as a host?”

“I suppose,” she sighed, flipping through the list. As expected, her name had been added to the schedule, and she noticed some adjustment to the time slots to account for her addition. Instead of only one of them sitting out during any given block, two of them would be. As luck would have it, Ingrid was the last of them to get her first break. She cast a glare at Felix, who was responsible for maintaining the scheduling system.

“Don’t give me that look,” he huffed. “I just run it through a program, I don’t make the schedule by hand.”

Rolling her eyes, she returned her attention to the list. Her heart sank a little when she noticed that she had a grand total of _zero_ stars next to the names of her guests. No one had requested her, though she did notice a request for Felix was the only one of the day. Maybe the whole “tsundere” thing, as Sylvain had called it much to Felix’s annoyance, actually worked for some girls.

She glanced at the time on her phone and let out a sigh. Just a couple minutes before the doors would be open. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sylvain teased with a bright tone. Ashe and Felix were first on standby, and they got to work passing out origami instructions and setting out tea cups quickly as the others took their seats at their tables. Dimitri apparently didn’t have detention, as he had actually showed up on time. Once again her conversation with him welled up to the forefront of her mind and she wondered if it was because he’d taken his medication and had had a good night’s sleep. She hoped he had.

Much to Ingrid’s surprise, she found she was actually kind of nervous as the clock ticked closer and closer to opening time. She rubbed her hands against the soft fabric of her pants anxiously. What was there to be nervous about? All she had to do was talk to the girls who sat down at her table, drink tea, and try to follow the origami instructions. How hard could it be? Sans the origami, she’d watched the guys chat and drink tea enough that she knew what she was getting into.

A soft hand fell on her shoulder, and she practically jumped out of her skin, spinning around to see Ashe smiling kindly down at her. “It’s a little scary at first,” he whispered, handing her a sheet of origami instructions. “But it’s kind of fun once you get the hang of it. When in doubt, just let the guests steer the conversation.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks, Ashe.”

He headed off and a moment later, the doors opened to let the first of the guests in. They filtered in in an orderly line, filling the seats at the tables they’d been assigned. The five girls that took a seat around Ingrid smiled brightly, apparently not put out in the slightest at being assigned to her table. She tried to match their enthusiasm and offered as kind a greeting as she could manage. She invited them to help themselves to the tea and started explaining that they had a special activity planned for the day.

“Let’s see…” she muttered, looking through the instruction sheets. “We can make… a crane, a humming bird, a turtle, a rabbit, or a tulip. What do you all think?”

They considered it for a moment. “I like rabbits,” one of the girls decided, and the other four eagerly chimed in their agreement.

“Rabbits it is.” They each selected their colors of paper – two of the girls chose pink, one chose purple, another yellow, and the last pale blue. Ingrid took green. “Alright… It looks like first, we’re going to fold it in half like this…” She demonstrated on her own paper.

The first step was easy enough, but it was all downhill from there, Ingrid realized with some dismay. While the instructions were clear and even provided picture aids, Ingrid was having a hard time wrapping her head around it. Four crumpled or torn sheets of green paper later, and she finally produced a wad of paper in the semblance of a rabbit.

The girls praised her valiant effort, assuring her that she would be an expert by the end of the day as she would have plenty of time to keep practicing. The timer went off and the girls bid her their goodbyes, taking their considerably nicer rabbits with them.

By the time Ingrid’s break came up, she had amassed another lopsided bunny, a squished tulip, a crane with a broken neck, and lump that was supposed to be a turtle. She came to the conclusion that origami may not have been her forte.

She wasn’t the only one, either, as she and Sylvain made their rounds passing out more paper and refilling tea cups. Felix gave about one attempt per group, grouching and huffing when it came out as more of a wad of paper than any discernible shape, and insisting he’d much rather watch his guests practice than do it himself. And poor Dimitri was sheepishly surrounded by rainbow piles of crushed and ripped paper, still diligently trying his best but ultimately ending up with the same result each time. The girls took pity on him, gifting him their creations and encouraging him to keep doing his best.

Sylvain, Ingrid was unsurprised to see, seemed to be a natural, and his table was lined with expertly folded woodland creatures made by his own hand, as well as a litany of slightly less perfect ones gifted to him by his hoard of swooning guests. Some of the ones he made, she noted, weren’t even from the options they had instructions for. There was a dinosaur, a rose, a dragon, and a lotus that he must have Googled instructions for on his phone when he got bored of the simpler designs.

Ashe and Dedue were also pretty adept at the craft, it seemed, each with an army of well-crafted paper critters of their own.

And by the time they saw their last guests out for the day, Ingrid’s skill had definitely improved, though she was still no where near as skilled as Sylvain, Ashe, or Dedue. On top of that, two of her guests gifted her with their creations before they left; one a green turtle, the other a red tulip. She tucked them into her bag, somewhat pleased for a reason she couldn’t quite place.

All in all, the conversation and the crafting and the tea had been… nice. It certainly wasn’t as daunting as she let herself worry it was going to be, especially once she followed Ashe’s advice to let the guests lead the conversation.

For the first time, she was beginning to think that maybe there could have been a worse club to be indebted to than the Host Club, and that maybe Sylvain might have been right that it could be kind of fun.


End file.
